


in the details

by i_feel_electric



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 11:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10217225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_feel_electric/pseuds/i_feel_electric
Summary: why are we told that we’re only allowed to be in love with one person, when most of us spend our entire lives loving and being loved by countless others?or, a namjoon-centric exploration of three people finding each other and making it work





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kato_Y](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kato_Y/gifts).



> this is a very belated birthday gift for my soulsister, kato_y. love you to the moon and back <3

why are we told that we’re only allowed to be in love with one person, when most of us spend our entire lives loving and being loved by countless others? the way we love our friends and our family, chosen or otherwise, isn’t all that different from being  _ in _ love. being  _ in _ love just means you get to fuck each other in a way that’s more “socially acceptable”, but the foundation of that is still the same. the heart of how we love each other never changes. and families deteriorate just like marriages do, because sometimes we forget how to love. or we learn it was never really love to begin with.

 

our capacity for love might not be limitless--namjoon definitely isn’t in favor of loving everything on the planet because he’s not some delusional hippie asshole and there will always be people he can’t stand, but he knows he can love and be  _ in _ love with more than one person at the same time. knows, because he is. don’t ask him how it happened, because he wouldn’t be able to tell you.

 

what namjoon can tell you, is what his dad tells him whenever he asks how he knew that he loved mom. that she was it for him. the one.

 

_ love isn’t this big, monumental event _ , his dad always starts, wide hands gently emphasizing his words. _ it’s a series of much smaller, much more insignificant happenings that, in the beginning, often go unnoticed. things that aren’t even concrete, they’re only feelings. gut feelings. intangible and indescribable yet wholly undeniable. _

 

wholly undeniable. his dad’s eyes light up every time he says that, like the initial rush of falling in love never really ended for him. like it’s still fresh, even as it’s settled in the bedrock. namjoon considers himself equal parts lucky and fucked over for having parents who work. work being the keyword, because it’s not magic, but they might as well be mythical creatures at this point.

 

except he’s pretty sure he found something similar. something real that challenges him as much as it provides the kind of happiness he doesn’t think he deserves. it’s just with more than one person. it’s just with two of his best friends. some days, namjoon feels like he’s waiting for it to all fall apart. but most days, it’s more like being repeatedly punched in the solar plexus by two blazing suns on a regular basis.

 

if that’s not wholly undeniable, he genuinely doesn’t know what is.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


“namjoon!” comes the stern shout from the kitchen, undercut by the rustle of plastic bags.

 

he absently rubs at his still-cold nose and turns the page of his book. “what?”

 

“did you forget to buy more green tea,  _ again _ ?” jimin asks.

 

namjoon’s fingers go rigid against thin paper, eyes widening as a wave of guilt immediately washes over him.

 

“ _ shit shit shit _ ,” he hisses and scrambles up from the couch, book falling to the floor with a heavy thud. “sorry!” namjoon yells. he narrowly escapes breaking his toes on their coffee table on his way to the kitchen and skids across the tiles right into jimin’s space. he takes him by the shoulders and hopes the pained expression on his face is appropriately apologetic. “i’m sorry.”

 

but jimin just looks at him with raised eyebrows and a gleam in his eyes that spells trouble.

 

“it was on the list,” jimin huffs. “in gigantic red letters. circled. with like, ten exclamation points.”

 

“i  _ know _ , i--” namjoon flounders, lifting one hand to drag it roughly through his hair. he thought he was getting better at this. “it’s not like i forgot on purpose. i just--”

 

“get distracted. lost in that stupidly big brain of yours,” jimin interrupts. he sighs and shakes his head, lips twitching into a soft smile. “i know.”

 

namjoon smiles back. “sorry.”

 

slowly, the softness spreads to the rest of jimin’s features and he kicks namjoon gently in the shin. forgiven but not forgotten, because unlike namjoon, jimin isn’t a massive space cadet and this probably isn’t the last time he’ll screw up. they both know it. and he’ll always be a perpetual work in progress.

 

leaning in, namjoon curls his other hand around jimin’s neck, earning himself a brighter smile when he presses a firm kiss to jimin’s forehead. he relishes the way jimin automatically moves closer. the way he asks for more contact without saying anything. namjoon is only too happy to oblige.

 

“i’ll see if i can catch yoongi before he gets home,” jimin murmurs, pulling out his phone and easily nestling himself against namjoon’s chest.

 

“if not, i’ll go back out.”

 

“it’s a frozen wasteland out there, i don’t want y--”

 

namjoon pinches his waist. jimin squeals and dances away.

 

“i’m sure the convenience store has some. it’s not that far,” he insists. although “not that far” doesn’t really matter when it’s legitimately colder than mars outside.

 

jimin’s lips pull down at the corners. “you don’t have to.”

 

he shrugs. “yeah, but it’s my fault. and i want to.”

 

the look jimin gives him now spells a different kind of trouble, the kind namjoon would rather participate in instead of bundling up and enduring self-inflicted icy torture. because jimin’s eyes are warm, just like his hand when it lifts to cup namjoon’s cheek. it would’ve been a truly nice moment if the door didn’t slam open a few seconds later, followed by a familiar gravelly whine.

 

“jesus  _ f-fuck _ it’s c-cold,” yoongi groans in the hallway, stomping his feet on the mat. “this isn’t winter, this is h-hell. how can anyone even call this s-shit w-weather?”

 

jimin arches a sharp eyebrow at namjoon. “you were saying?”

 

“don’t worry about it,” he laughs quietly. jimin tsks and shoves him into the living room.

 

together, they migrate through the apartment, greeted by a shivering yoongi huddled in the foyer with his coat in a soggy pile on the floor. frozen slush clings to his dark hair and his face is red where his scarf didn’t cover--long fingers suffering the same fate despite gloves--and honestly, namjoon’s never seen him look this pathetic.

 

“someone hold me. i’m not human, i’m a fucking soulless p-popsicle,” yoongi grumbles, scowling at them.

 

he snorts, even though he’s about to suffer the same fate for the third time today, and starts pulling his own scarf and jacket on while jimin gathers yoongi into his arms.

 

“where the fuck d’you think you’re g-going?” yoongi demands over jimin’s shoulder.

 

“forgot the tea again.”

 

“i told him he didn’t have to,” jimin is quick to add.

 

“and i’m not listening.” namjoon flashes him a broad, shit-eating grin, tugging his beanie on. “need anything else while i’m risking my life?”

 

yoongi sniffles. “condoms.”

 

a giggle bubbles up out of his lungs at that. “green tea and condoms. i can see the cashier’s face already,” he drawls.

 

“just go,” jimin tells him. “the sooner you go the sooner you come home.”

 

namjoon ignores the flare of heat behind his ribs as he slips his boots on.

 

“yes, sir.”

 

“b-be careful, idiot-t,” yoongi mumbles, teeth still chattering despite jimin’s efforts to rub the life back into him.

 

it’s stupidly endearing and that heat spreads--licks its way through his chest directly into the pit of his stomach. namjoon swallows and steps towards them, laying a hand on yoongi’s damp head.

 

“i will,” he replies quietly.

 

but before he turns to go, yoongi snatches his hand, squeezing briefly and letting it drop without further comment. jimin’s eyes find his. namjoon smiles again. then he walks out the door, wondering why some days it feels like the beginning instead of just somewhere in the middle. why he still gets so flustered over the smallest gestures. is that what his dad was talking about? love lingering in the details.

 

he’d give the thought more attention if it wasn’t seriously cold as fuck outside. colder than fuck. in fact, it’s entirely possible that no fuck in the history of fucks has  _ ever _ been this cold, and namjoon can’t feel anything at all by the time he reaches the deserted convenience store down the road.

 

he doesn’t forget the green tea, at least. and he doesn’t forget the condoms. he might’ve forgotten what it’s like to have a body, but who needs a body when everything is frozen death and nothing hurts yet. the only thing convincing him not to just lie down and wait for a wampa to show up and eat him is the promise of flannel pajamas and food that isn’t cooked in the goddamn microwave.

 

and cuddling on the couch. that’s something to look forward to.

 

somehow, namjoon convinces his non-existent legs to move faster and he makes it back to the apartment in record time--doesn’t even lose his footing on a patch of ice. he’s surprised that he’s still capable of surprising himself.

 

with numb fingers, he shuts the door behind him, just standing there in the dark with the plastic bag dangling from his wrist. his skin starts to burn as it thaws. he can’t even bring himself to take off his coat.

 

“joonie?” jimin’s voice filters through the apartment from the kitchen.

 

“is he back already?” yoongi asks, appearing in the hall to check. he takes one look at namjoon and rolls his eyes. “fucking moron, c’mere.”

 

namjoon shuffles forward, yoongi meeting him halfway.

 

“don’t ever let me do that again,” he mutters.

 

yoongi smirks and takes the plastic bag, setting it on the floor.

 

“stop forgetting shit and you won’t have to.”

 

“yeah,” namjoon laughs. 

 

he lets yoongi fret over him in his own way, systematically removing every layer and neatly returning it to its rightful place. coat on the rack, scarf over the coat, beanie and gloves stuffed in the pockets, boots lined up underneath.

 

“give me your hands,” yoongi instructs him next. namjoon holds them out, knuckles pink and skin dry.

 

ceramic clinks delicately in the background. the water running into the sink basin. yoongi stands close and rubs namjoon’s hands with his own, coating his palms with hot breath, working the stiffness out of the joints. even after all these years--even after a decade of friendship before admitting to themselves it was more than that--namjoon receives a jolt of secret pleasure whenever yoongi is sweet to him like this. it always happens in the most unexpected ways. because to yoongi, romantic gestures reside almost entirely in the realm of the mundane.

 

“thank you,” he says so low it might as well be a whisper. his skin tingles where yoongi’s lips graze the back of his hand, heart forgetting its rhythm in his chest.

 

“you’re welcome,” yoongi exhales, turning his hand over. he leaves a kiss on the inside of namjoon’s left wrist. “go change. jimin made food.”

 

he nods and doesn’t say anything else, flustered again.

 

slipping free of yoongi, namjoon wanders into their bedroom, feeling strange. not in a bad way, not off-balance like he used to feel when this first started and he couldn’t believe jimin and yoongi both wanted what he wanted. couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to fall into a dynamic that made sense. one of the only things that has ever made sense. he’s just...touched. which is an intensely dissatisfying way to say what he means.

 

in the kitchen, jimin giggles, followed by yoongi’s amused, lilting rumble. namjoon listens without really listening while he changes into his flannel pants and the first sweatshirt he can find. he scrubs warm fingers over his cold face, trying to pull himself out of whatever maudlin hole he accidentally fell into tonight. the happy sounds floating around the apartment help.

 

“dude, hurry up while it’s still hot,” yoongi calls.

 

“yeah,” namjoon answers, voice cracking just a little bit. he clears his throat. “yeah, i’m coming.”

 

hastily tugging on some fresh socks, he jogs out of the room, nearly colliding with jimin who’s carrying a couple full, steaming bowls. jimin sidesteps easily, grinning.

 

“it’s a good thing i know you so well.”

 

namjoon moans into his hands. “i’m sorry.”

 

“what did you break?” yoongi asks, trailing behind holding two mugs of hot cocoa. the mugs are the only reason he doesn’t smack yoongi upside the head.

 

“ _ god _ , nothing. shut up.”

 

yoongi’s eyes glitter at him, dark and fond, as he glides past.

 

“it’s a valid question.”

 

and it is. but a little faith sometimes would be nice. namjoon sighs and lets his shoulders droop.

 

“just grab the last mug on the counter.” jimin nudges a socked foot against his own, giving him another smile. “it’s yours.”

 

it takes a few minutes for them to arrange themselves on the couch, between the limbs and the pillows and the blankets and the food. somehow, namjoon ends up in the middle--jimin on his right and yoongi on his left, both of them overlapping into his space out of shared habit. he stares down at his bowl of noodles that aren’t from a microwave, then at the mug of cocoa stuffed with colored marshmallows because that’s the way he likes it best. jimin puts netflix on and yoongi hides his smile in namjoon’s shoulder when he picks big hero 6 for the third time that week.

 

“aren’t you tired of this yet?” yoongi asks, tone flat.

 

“obviously not,” jimin shoots back.

 

sighing, namjoon chomps down on a forkful of noodle, mumbling, “just let baymax into your heart, yoongi.”

 

jimin beams and sways over to plant a wet kiss on namjoon’s cheek. he blushes. yoongi scoffs, except he can’t quite hide the way his lips start to quirk. 

 

“nerds.”

 

namjoon huffs out a gentle laugh, warmth burrowing under his skin when they both settle firmly against him, elbows knocking into each other as they eat. san fransokyo shimmers on the tv screen. jimin vibrates with delight. yoongi lifts namjoon’s arm until it’s draped around him and it chases away the last of the cold still clinging to his bones.

 

love, namjoon thinks, lingers in the details.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


yoongi tumbled into namjoon’s life in a string of incidents he is hesitant to call fate. not that he doesn’t think it’s incredible, how they came to be. he just wants some of the credit for himself, because once that ball started rolling, it was namjoon who gave it the final shove--much to yoongi’s initial annoyance.

 

they were 7 and 8 the first time they ran into each other. it was at a big playground in another neighborhood, thick layers of snow on the ground, but the sun bright in the sky. namjoon remembers his mother’s laughter as she pushed him on one of the swings. he remembers the ground rushing past his outstretched legs and the exact moment he noticed a skinny kid by the slides with dark hair and dark eyes who looked just like him. they didn’t speak, they didn’t even make eye-contact. it was only the noticing. but sometimes that’s all it takes.

 

in his 7 year old brain, it was immediately clear that they didn’t go to the same school and didn’t live close enough to each other to cross paths all that often. but by some freaky cosmic miracle, it still happened anyway. sometimes at the supermarket his dad claimed had better produce than the one closer to their house. sometimes at that big playground in another neighborhood. once at the movie theater out by the highway. namjoon noticed and wondered why he kept noticing, way too young to understand the philosophy behind coincidence.

 

it wasn’t until high school, though, that their paths did more than just cross. namjoon was technically a freshman, but his stupidly big brain usually meant skipping ahead of his peers. so, when he spoke his first words to the kid with dark hair and dark eyes who had looked just like him, it was in a smelly bio lab at 8:05 on a monday morning.

 

of course, he didn’t know yoongi then. he didn’t even know his name. he just knew that it was weird, that they kept circling around each other like this and didn’t the boy think it was weird, too?

 

that’s not what came out of his mouth, obviously. at 24, namjoon still struggles to convince his brain and his words to cooperate. but back then? back then, it was pretty much a disaster. which is kind of par for the course, isn’t it.

 

as with all embarrassing life experiences, he remembers this one with perfect clarity. the vague nausea, the anxiety. knowing he was supposed to be there but still feeling like he hadn’t earned it. like no one would take him seriously just because he was younger. namjoon was so nervous, he accidentally snapped his shitty, dollar store pen and got blue ink all over his hands less than five minutes in. then he wiped them on his jeans, which was a mistake, and had to consciously make an effort not to touch his face while he tried not to panic. the teacher was doing attendance. namjoon’s heart was literally in his mouth. and the skinny kid with the dark hair and dark eyes was sitting right next to him like the punchline of a joke he wasn’t in on.

 

“hey, um, excuse me?” he’d blurted to no response. not even an involuntary one. “hey. sorry, uh-- s-sorry.”

 

yoongi had been slouched in his seat, staring blankly up at the ceiling, and he’d stared blankly at namjoon, too, once he turned his head.

 

“do you maybe, like, have an extra pen that i could borrow?” he asked, shoving a hand through his hair.

 

yoongi followed the movement, but said nothing. namjoon realized ten seconds too late what he’d just done.

 

“ _ shit _ .”

 

“namjoon kim?” the teacher called.

 

“i-- what? yeah.” he whipped around, raising a blue stained hand and then dropping it so quickly he smacked his bony knuckles on the edge of the table. namjoon grimaced. “that’s me. i’m-- me, here,” he’d squeaked, ducking his head. “fuck.”

 

the teacher eyed him skeptically before continuing to the next name on her list. “yoongi min?”

 

wordlessly, yoongi lifted his hand just high enough to be seen. the teacher nodded and moved on. namjoon’s face had been so hot and he’d pointedly glared down at his stupid ink-covered fingers and wasn’t this a hell of a way to start his first class on his first day of high school? he wanted to curl up in a ball and die. because more than making an ass out of himself, this was not the way he’d imagined meeting the skinny kid with the dark hair and the dark eyes whose path kept inexplicably intersecting with his.

 

class began even though namjoon was far from ready for it. he was frazzled and still didn’t have anything to write with, but at least the ink was starting to dry a little bit. he’d sighed heavily, wondering if he should try and find the paper towels, but that would just draw more attention to himself and he’d already done a great job of that in the last five minutes, so he just sat there trying not to put his chin in his hands and pay attention at the same time. then there was a stubby pencil without an eraser being slowly pushed across the table and into his space. namjoon blinked, looked at yoongi, blinked again.

 

“oh my god, thank you,” he breathed as he reached for it, leaving blue smudges on the yellow paint. “seriously. thanks. i don’t even know why i don’t have an extra, it’s just been kind of an intensely stupid day.” namjoon wiggled his fingers. “obviously.”

 

he laughed slightly, tossing yoongi a grateful smile, and to his complete and utter astonishment, yoongi’s mouth twitched upward into a faint smirk.

 

“don’t mention it,” yoongi had murmured, his voice a dry, scratchy huff. like he’d just woken up three seconds ago.

 

namjoon liked his voice--had even stared openly for a long moment, wondering if this was how things started. all that criss-crossing and now this. yoongi spared him another brief glance, something soft in his dark eyes that he couldn’t categorize. something namjoon wanted to know. it was the only thing he’d been able to think about for the rest of the day, everything after that a muddled mess of identical hallways and new faces and a mountain of information he hadn’t organized yet. the clearest memory was always him--that skinny kid with the dark hair. 

 

now, it’s nearly 12 years later, and he just can’t believe he never realized that he’d probably fallen in love with the asshole right then and there.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


“do you remember the day we met?” namjoon asks, repositioning himself on the edge of the picnic table.

 

“you were covered in blue ink,” yoongi answers. “kinda hard to forget.”

 

he nods. amusement park sounds swell and fade around them in every direction. across the walkway, jimin’s waiting in line to buy everyone ice cream, his pink suspenders standing out as a single bright point in the fading afternoon. namjoon smiles.

 

“i was just thinking about it,” he continues.

 

yoongi lifts a hand to chew on his thumbnail, shoulder pressing more firmly into his.

 

“any particular reason?”

 

“nostalgia, i guess.” namjoon shrugs. 

 

he doesn’t actually know why he started thinking about it, why does anyone think about anything? namjoon was only sitting here next to yoongi and his mind started wandering, like minds tend to do. maybe his more than others, yeah, but how else is he supposed to pass the time? it’s not like he can turn his brain off. then at some point the wandering became remembering, something else minds tend to do. like how many years they’d been friends and how long it took them to stop being afraid of themselves. how grateful he was that they did, because a world without yoongi is a world he wants nothing to do with. namjoon shrugs again, crossing his legs at the ankles. “i was also trying to figure out when i fell in love with you.”

 

he feels yoongi’s silent, hiccupped laughter and rolls his eyes.

 

“seriously?” yoongi turns to give him a raised brow. 

 

“what?”

 

“nothing,” yoongi mutters, shaking his head and turning away again, hiding his grin. namjoon hates when he does that.

 

“dude, what?” he insists.

 

yoongi just looks real hard at his beat up sneakers and asks, “was it then?”

 

“i dunno, maybe.” namjoon breathes out a laugh. “probably,” he amends, uncrossing his legs again. “sometimes i think it started before that, because you were everywhere. it’s like the universe wanted me to notice you.”

 

he’s hesitant to call it fate, because good things in namjoon’s life are either accidental or the result of him working his ass off. this is essentially both, but every day spent with jimin and yoongi is a pretty solid argument for destiny.

 

the weight against his shoulder increases significantly as yoongi shifts, leaning into him. then he hears a low, unintelligible murmur, which is something yoongi does when he doesn’t want to bring attention to the fact that sappy things are coming out of his mouth. which is pointless, since namjoon always makes him repeat it anyway.

 

“no mumbling when you’re being gross, we talked about this,” he chides, lips stretching across his face.

 

yoongi sighs.

 

“i  _ said _ ...i noticed you, too, jackass.”

 

namjoon ducks down to catch yoongi’s eye and yoongi laughs gently, but he doesn’t turn away. it’s a lot, when yoongi gives him his undivided attention. makes him feel ill-equipped to handle the ever-increasing weight of his affection. because it didn’t take long for namjoon to figure out what that soft thing was, once they did become friends. and it didn’t surprise him that yoongi cared about so much more than what he let everyone else see.

 

his smile grows. yoongi looks at him with the kind of quiet intensity namjoon knows well, but will probably never get used to, no matter how many years they spend together.

 

“am i interrupting a moment?” jimin asks, materializing in front of them.

 

“you’re never interrupting,” yoongi replies, nudging his elbow into namjoon’s ribs, and sits up to take his ice cream cone. “this one was just being disgusting, as usual.”

 

“how shocking.”

 

“hey, i wasn’t the only one,” he protests. jimin chuckles and hands him his swiftly melting tower of mint chocolate chip, standing close enough that his knees knock into theirs.

 

lapping at his own cone, jimin licks his lips and narrows his eyes thoughtfully at namjoon. “so what are we gonna hit first? the big, scary roller coaster or the spinny thing?”

 

he watches jimin’s tongue flick out to catch a runaway drop before it falls, trying to focus on the question. namjoon coughs and averts his gaze, watching strangers pass by them instead.

 

“which spinny thing, there are like five spinny things.”

 

“the one that goes up on its side,” jimin clarifies, still staring when namjoon glances back, slowly twirling the cone over the flat of his tongue.

 

he knocks his knee against jimin’s leg and immediately jimin’s face crumples into a sunny grin, followed by his evil, tinkling pixie laughter. to this day, namjoon still can’t decide if it’s the greatest or most unsettling thing he’s ever heard.

 

“how a’out neiver,” yoongi chimes in, mouth full.

 

jimin scoffs. “no one asked you, you big baby.”

 

yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead and disappear into his hair. “fuck you,” he cries, lurching up from the picnic table to attack jimin’s waist with his fingers.

 

“shit!” jimin cackles, head thrown back, half-heartedly attempting escape. “you’re gonna make me drop this, s-stop.”

 

“ _ apologize _ ,” yoongi demands gleefully.

 

“nev- never.” jimin shrieks and smacks yoongi’s hand away, panting as he doubles over and tries to catch his breath. “i hate you,” he laughs, cheeks adorably red. “i’m not hanging out with you anymore.”

 

namjoon looks back and forth between the two of them--yoongi wearing a brilliant, gummy smile and jimin’s eyes sparkling, even when he walks over to the next picnic table in self-imposed exile. he’s not jealous, exactly, despite that particular emotion being something he’s not a stranger to. it’s that jimin makes yoongi come alive so easily and he’s always a little awestruck when it happens. the playful, rambunctious part of yoongi’s personality wasn’t something he saw much of when they weren’t at home by themselves. not until jimin. he notices it in himself, too.

 

still laughing, yoongi plops down beside namjoon. they spend a few minutes eating their ice cream, both of them almost down to the cone, but eventually he has to ask, because he always asks.

 

"how come when we’re in public you're never like that with me?"

 

goofy smile fading, yoongi scrunches his nose and squints at nothing. the world, the question.

 

“because you get weird. you always look like your brain’s about to fall out of your ass.”

 

“why is that weird?” namjoon doesn’t pout, not really. it’s close, though.

 

“you’re never cute with me, either. it’s just weird.”

 

he’s definitely pouting now. “i can be cute,” he insists.

 

yoongi bites into another smile, giving namjoon an exasperated eye roll. he knows yoongi thinks he’s ridiculous.

 

“i love you because you’re you, and i love jimin because he’s jimin,” yoongi explains, gruff but sincere. he chomps into his cone and gestures at all of them. “isn’t that how this happened?” he mumbles.

 

it’s not often that yoongi drops the l-word so casually. and, in this particular instance, it doesn’t fall under the category of “gross”, so namjoon can’t even give him shit about it. because they agreed in the beginning, almost two years ago, that they’d be as upfront as possible. honest in a way that was at first uncomfortable and difficult to articulate. they don’t really have that problem anymore.

 

“yeah, it is,” namjoon answers seriously. “and i get that. but i can still be cute.”

 

yoongi blinks at him, shakes his head, and then gets up from the table without a word.

 

“seriously, though, i can,” he calls after him. yoongi doesn’t turn around.

 

namjoon chuckles. sweet mint and chocolate dissolve on his tongue. fifteen feet away, jimin and yoongi murmur in low tones at the other picnic table, muffled only by the rhythmic, mechanical sound of the rides swelling and fading in every direction. then he gets a text message.

 

**mochi  
** **[sent: july 15 2:33pm]  
** you’re the cutest <3

 

he grins, feeling the strain of it in more than just his cheeks.

 

**[sent: july 15 2:34pm]  
** i’m not the one who needs   
convincing.

 

when he looks up, jimin and yoongi are doing their favorite impersonations of the sun, but this time it’s directed at namjoon. his stomach flops unexpectedly and there’s a tell-tale heat prickling under his skin. he swears this was supposed to get easier.

 

it does. doesn’t it?

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


college was a bit of a strange thing for namjoon. maybe not in the conventional sense, he knows it’s probably a pretty fantastically bizarre time for everyone. but it’s where things started. or continued, depending on how you look at it.

 

yoongi had applied to all the same schools, so they could go together, which should’ve been a red flag in hindsight. namjoon was 17, though, he wasn’t thinking about being  _ in _ love with his best friend, he was thinking about lecture halls and house parties and being on his own for the first time in his life. that revelation didn’t even hit him until they were in their senior year, anyway.

 

actually, the first revelation and the second revelation weren’t that far apart, now that he thinks about it. formative life experiences and embarrassing life experiences are essentially bedfellows and he remembers this one with perfect clarity, too. coincidentally, both of these revelations happened at someone else’s apartment. music loud enough to shake the floors, rooms crowded enough to turn the air thick and stifling. namjoon was sober the first time--drunk enough on exhaustion after pulling an all-nighter before his semiotics midterm. yoongi had arrived earlier and was just shy of tipsy when namjoon found him on the back porch.

 

he isn’t sure what it was. the tiredness, the fact that his head was crammed with philosophical jargon on signs and symbols and meaning, or some inevitable product of time. he supposes it doesn’t matter, because when he’d stepped out onto the deck and seen yoongi--his thin frame hunched over the railing, face cast in dim light and shadow, this tiny smile playing at the edge of his mouth while he listened to a mutual friend of theirs talk…

 

well, it was a lot like all the other times he’d looked at yoongi. just accompanied by an overwhelming wave of fondness and the realization that the first word that had popped into his fried brain had been “beautiful”.

 

namjoon knew that, objectively, yoongi was gorgeous. he’d always known that. but this was a different kind of knowing. one that came with impulses he wasn’t used to having. and once he’d let the debris from that particular bomb settle, certain things--memories, feelings, conversations--made a hell of a lot more sense.

 

like the happy twist in his stomach when yoongi had turned and spotted him, smile blooming into something quietly luminous. so much about yoongi was quiet and understated and namjoon had figured, then, that he’d definitely been missing signs.

 

“hey.” yoongi reached out for him, taking him by the wrist and pulling him closer. “you survived.”

 

“hey. yeah,” namjoon breathed. “barely,” he laughed unsteadily.

 

yoongi had squeezed his shoulder, hand sliding down namjoon’s arm before dropping. he remembers distinctly the way he’d almost shivered at the contact, like the revelation had given his body permission to overreact at the smallest things.

 

“you’ll be fine. you always are,” yoongi told him. calm, confident. namjoon hadn’t felt confident about anything in that moment other than how his insides seemed to be deteriorating rapidly.

 

he’d nodded, tossing yoongi and their friend a too-big smile as he raked his fingers through his hair.

 

“guess we’ll find out.”

 

the conversation picked up again with ease, the apartment throbbing with bass and a swarm of voices behind him. yoongi had offered namjoon some of his drink, which he’d taken gladly, not entirely convinced he wanted to find out. not yet.

 

it’s funny, looking back at it. namjoon had been such a wuss, he barely spoke to yoongi in the three weeks that followed, and they  _ lived _ together. covering up his avoidance with schoolwork had been pretty effortless. he was virtually non-existent anyway, always holed up in the library or passed out on his desk when he wasn’t in class. but there’s a fine line between genuinely swamped and being a giant dick.

 

too many nights, he’d ended up staring into space, thinking about yoongi. thinking about how pathetic he was, acting like this was the scariest thing in the world. it kind of really was, though. namjoon loved yoongi--was  _ in _ love with him. you bet your ass that shit was terrifying. because the potential of it all going to hell in a handbasket was always lurking in the corner of his mind.

 

the more he’d thought about it, however--the more he’d reminded himself that yoongi was the single greatest person living or dead--the less he felt like having an anxiety attack at the idea of telling him.

 

the decision turned out not being his. an accident, like most major events in his life. the minor ones too, actually, but that’s besides the point. the point is that yoongi had cornered namjoon in his room one night, flopping next to him on the bed so close that their arms overlapped and his entire body lit up like a goddamn bonfire. they’d talked for a while about the usual dumb stuff. classes, friends, how tired they both were. how much they’d missed this lurking in the careful, slightly rusty exchange of their voices. like they were easing back into the old rhythm that would always only be theirs.

 

when the inevitable lull hit, namjoon suddenly at a loss for what to say next, he’d stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of their breath. listening to the jackrabbit thump of his heart echoing in his ears. yoongi had moved, his cheek squished against namjoon’s shoulder. he inhaled deeply. opportunities were rarely so golden.

 

“hey, yoongi?” he’d started.

 

“yeah?”

 

“we’ve, um--” but namjoon faltered right out of the gate, wringing the hem of his t-shirt in his fingers as he inhaled again, pulse hammering violently in his neck and his wrists. “we’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t we.”

 

“joon,” yoongi laughed softly.

 

he exhaled, feeling lightheaded. “yeah.”

 

“whatever it is, just tell me.” yoongi’s hand found his. “you don’t have to fuckin’ stumble around it.”

 

“i--” namjoon cut himself off, tongue and teeth not fast enough for how quickly his brain was supplying all the things he’d wanted to say. “well, there’s a reason i wanna stumble around it, i don’t even know how to put it into words. i don’t--”

 

yoongi clenched his hand tighter and namjoon went silent.

 

“dude.”

 

“dude. right.” he’d huffed, eyes roaming around the room desperately. why had he even opened his fucking mouth?

 

“i’m serious. talk to me,” yoongi implored, and there was something desperate about that, too. “you uh, you haven’t really done that lately. not like you used to.”

 

instantly, his stomach dropped out, heart grinding to a dead stop before stuttering back to life. guilt pressed down on him and he tried not to imagine yoongi wondering why he’d been such an ass for the last month.

 

“it’s not you, i’ve just been drowning in papers and shit.” namjoon let out a huge sigh. his free hand he used to gesture awkwardly like it would explain more than he was. “you know me. professional space case.”

 

yoongi snorted. “so what is it?”

 

he swallowed.

 

“i need to say something first.”

 

“okay.”

 

his head thunked back against the wall. yoongi was looking at him, waiting, patient as ever. namjoon had gnawed on his lip and closed his eyes and decided he didn’t have the energy to sift through the clutter in his brain.

 

“you’ve been my best friend for ten years,” he murmured. yoongi hummed in acknowledgment and namjoon let the dam burst open. “it’s pretty much the only really incredible thing that’s happened to me, y’know? and i have no idea what i’d do if i ever fucked that up, because you’re like-- you’re everything, right? and i don’t want to lose you over something so stupid, but i can’t not say anything. i can’t not take a chance. you’re worth that chance, i just--”

 

he’d noticed the bed shifting while he was talking, but his eyes were still closed, so he didn’t realize what yoongi was doing until there were hands on his face and a pair of lips attached to his. namjoon had been stunned, to say the least--paralyzed even though yoongi was sitting in his lap, kissing him. he remembers wondering if he’d finally knocked himself out cold or if he was dead and this was the way his consciousness had chosen to spend its final moments.

 

but yoongi’s mouth curved upwards against his and namjoon kissed him back, his fingers curling around narrow hips.

 

“it’s not stupid,” yoongi had mumbled, drawing away just enough to look him in the eye. “you  _ are _ an idiot, though.”

 

“i know,” he responded on autopilot, because that would always be true.

 

then yoongi scowled, expression hardened into a glare so intense namjoon could actually feel it holding him there.

 

“and while i’m at it, did you really think i’d throw ten years in the fucking garbage if i didn’t feel the same way?”

 

namjoon’s eyebrows rose and fell and his mouth worked to produce sound. he was still struggling to catch up. lips still tingling and damp. “let’s just say i was concerned.”

 

“god, joon,” yoongi laughed, leaning back to groan into his palms.

 

“what?”

 

“i dunno, i thought i was being obvious.”

 

he chuckled at that. “i think the only obvious thing is that we’re both idiots.”

 

“fuck off, i didn’t know you’d be a dense fucking asshole,” yoongi growled, smacking him in the arm. his eyebrows jumped up his forehead a second time.

 

“ten years, yoongi.  _ ten years _ and it didn’t occur to you that i’m  _ totally _ a dense fucking asshole.”

 

namjoon swears he’d grinned so hard it hurt. yoongi merely rolled his eyes.

 

“jesus, why do i love you.”

 

“because we work,” he answered, tilting his head, wondering if he could come up with examples, but his brain had apparently liquefied and he frowned. “somehow,” he added.

 

yoongi coughed out another laugh, eyes boring into his. quietly luminous. “yeah, i guess we do.”

 

for a moment, namjoon’s breath had caught in his throat, because even though he’d been on the receiving end of this particular stare before, it was only now that he knew what it meant. what it really meant. he’d dug his fingers into yoongi’s waist, one thumb rubbing at the edge of his jeans, suddenly hyper-aware of how much everything had just been flipped upside down. or sideways. something off-kilter and new.

 

namjoon lifted a hand to brush yoongi’s dark bangs away from his face, tentatively cupping his cheek. yoongi leaned into it.

 

“can i-- can i kiss you again?” he’d blurted, still fifteen kinds of nervous about all of this.

 

“for fuck’s sake,” yoongi sighed. his fingers tightened in namjoon’s t-shirt and yanked. hard. “c’mere, you fuckin’ nerd.”

 

it was probably for the best that he hadn’t said much after that. not like he could, with yoongi’s tongue in his mouth. with the satisfaction of those final pieces finally toppling together, finding their place and settling in the bedrock.

  
  
  
  
  


the second time was a little different.

 

different apartment, different music, less people. it was their last semester before graduation and both of them were up to their eyeballs in the sludge of thesis hell. the only reason they’d dragged themselves out of the apartment was because it happened to be someone’s birthday. because they needed a break, even though namjoon’s pretty sure they’d forgotten what the fuck that meant.

 

it was also different because they’d been together for two months. a veritable whirlwind of behaving exactly the same as they had before, just with more cuddling. and sex. which had been a revelation in and of itself.

 

they were figuring shit out, but they were still them, and although namjoon remembers being stressed out of his mind, he also remembers being happy.

 

the second time, that happiness became confusion pretty damn fast.

 

he’d piled himself into the corner of the couch, yoongi somewhere in the kitchen talking to hoseok. he could hear them laughing. namjoon was enjoying his seclusion, though. and maybe he was a little high, listening to the classic motown tracks sliding out of the speakers more than he was tuned in to anything else. sometimes he liked being observer more than participant. sometimes he preferred watching other people fall into each other, because few things were better than a good conversation. mostly it was nice to disengage like this after weeks of squinting at small type face in a poorly lit room until 4 in the morning.

 

then more guests had arrived, hoseok introducing new friends to old, the energy in the apartment picking up a bit. namjoon would like to say he remembers everyone’s names, but the reality is that everyone else was kind of a blur after a boy named jimin had offered a shy smile in greeting, namjoon’s longer fingers swallowing his small hand when he’d reached out to shake it.

 

there was no zap of lightning. no electric shock, no magical explosion of rainbow glitter the moment their palms met. just a faint and familiar swoop in the pit of his stomach, because jimin was beautiful and namjoon liked the soft, high rasp of his voice.

 

the confusion came later, when jimin had sat down next to him and started a conversation. he was easy to talk to--in the way that they were still finding their exact rhythm, but they had one to begin with. namjoon doesn’t always know how to talk to someone, not then and not now, and it was nice. really nice. like they were already friends.

 

“it’s kind of funny, actually,” jimin told him, a freshly rolled joint pinched delicately in his fingers, thick smoke curling out of his mouth between words. “one night i was walking home from class and i didn’t go back to the dorms. i went to the studio to practice. on a whim.” he coughed and then smiled. “hoseok was looking for someone else and found me, instead.”

 

namjoon returned the smile. couldn’t help it.

 

“how serendipitous.”

 

“yeah,” jimin laughed, sinking further into the couch cushions. he passed namjoon the joint and their hands grazed. “it’s weird when you think about it, isn’t it. how one totally insignificant choice changes everything.”

 

it was weird when he thought about it, how one sentence could so completely win him over.

 

“yeah.” namjoon had nodded and taken another hit, wondering where jimin had come from. where he’d been hiding. “weird, but pretty amazing.”

 

still smiling, jimin retrained his focus on namjoon, eyes bright with curiosity.

 

“when did you meet him?”

 

“couple years ago, i think? we had an english class together,” he murmured slowly. “nothing special.” memories flooded his mind and his lips gave an involuntary twitch. “yoongi’s the one he loves more, anyway. those two are serious trouble.”

 

“yoongi?” jimin’s brow furrowed.

 

“my um, my boyfriend.” namjoon had almost blushed. even after two months, he kept tripping whenever he used that word. “he’s over there.”

 

jimin followed the wave of namjoon’s hand to where said boyfriend was standing on the other side of the room. yoongi had been mid-laugh, face scrunched up at something hoseok had done, judging by the fact that hoseok was now sprawled on the floor. jimin grinned, turning back. “he’s cute.”

 

chuckling, he took one more hit and held it in as long as he could, acutely aware of how jimin was watching him. he answered on the exhale. “don’t let him hear you say that.”

 

“why? he’s adorable,” jimin insisted.

 

“he is, but he doesn’t really feel that way,” namjoon had explained, passing him the joint. he stared at the middleground. there had to be a better way to articulate it. “he’s like...a newborn puppy that thinks it’s a big fucking dinosaur.”

 

choked laughter and a cloud of smoke erupted beside him, jimin’s eyes tearing as he struggled to breathe. namjoon giggled. the sound was contagious.

 

“i’m sorry, that was way less stupid before it came out of my mouth,” he whined, covering his face with both hands.

 

like most conversations that happen under the influence of weed, they dissolved into hysterics and didn’t come up for air until their faces were flushed. namjoon couldn’t even feel his anymore. he’d just been warm and full of that fuzzy sort of weightlessness. like he’d float away if he let himself.

 

jimin was giggling deliriously into his shoulder, because if he looked up, he’d never stop. namjoon understood, he was staring pointedly at the ceiling, fighting the tremors of amusement living in his stomach. he kept thinking about shared laughter--the way people connect over the ridiculousness of life. of words. themselves. it was incredible, really. and namjoon already felt closer to jimin as a result. they didn’t know each other, but they knew the sounds of their respective joy. a foundation worth building on.

 

“fuck,” jimin wheezed, sucking in a huge breath and sitting up. he wiped at his eyes, lips trembling into a grin. “i didn’t realize how much i needed that.”

 

namjoon huffed in agreement. “me either.”

 

they smiled at each other and then fell into companionable silence. the constant hum of other conversations filled the room, barely loud enough to be heard above the music still sliding out of the speakers. it had been good, he remembers. just existing there next to someone else who was on the same wavelength. aside from yoongi and hoseok, namjoon had difficulty finding that in other people and making it stick. maybe it wouldn’t with jimin, either, but it was still nice to pretend it would.

 

jimin passed him the joint. it was almost at roach status and his stomach swooped again when their fingers overlapped. namjoon brought it to his mouth, inhaling slowly. the sag of the couch cushions had tipped them closer and he’d worried a bit about how much he liked the way it felt.

 

“so.” jimin cleared his throat, the first to break the spell. “you said meeting hoseok wasn’t special,” he murmured, playing with the strings on his hoodie. “but it’s all special, right? i mean, like, carl jung was totally on to something. because if i hadn’t gone to the dance studio that night or you hadn’t signed up for that one class at that one time, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. talking about super important and meaningful shit like puppysaurs.”

 

“maybe,” namjoon replied, trying to keep his intellectual boner in his pants. “maybe puppysaurs are inevitable.”

 

one of jimin’s eyebrows arched, followed by the corner of his mouth as he giggled lazily.

 

“i don’t think you believe that.”

 

he’d legit barked at the confidence in his voice. “you’ve already figured me out, huh?”

 

“not quite,” jimin revealed, smirking down at his small hands. “getting there.”

 

“well, when you do, let me know,” namjoon said. was this flirting? he was pretty sure they were flirting. “because i definitely haven’t.”

 

jimin had peered up at him through the fluff of his wheat-blonde hair with the kind of calm, quiet certainty namjoon had seen before, on someone else’s face.

 

“i will.”

 

he’d nodded. the night trickled on. he can’t recall exactly what drew them away from the couch, but he didn’t talk to jimin much after that. namjoon just remembers hoseok telling everyone a story and the room falling to pieces, jimin’s sunbeam laughter floating above the rest. remembers the birthday cake and catching jimin’s eye in the kitchen after a cold beer had been pushed into his hand by a more-than-tipsy yoongi. he even remembers the way jimin had watched them. the way he’d smiled softly to himself when yoongi snuggled into namjoon’s side, too tired to care about being more puppy than dinosaur.

 

on the cab ride home, namjoon was unusually silent. a little buzzed, a little stoned, yoongi a dead weight against him. he’d seen the city gliding past the window, only half-aware of what he’d been looking at. because most of all, he remembers thinking about jimin and wondering why he couldn’t stop.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


the hardest part of being three, is balance. balancing himself and balancing himself as a component of something bigger. something complex and not easy to explain in a way that other people understand. namjoon frequently gets asked how they function as three instead of two, like he’s a wizard, or something, who magicked two people into having sex with him on a regular basis. because when everyone hears the number three in this particular context, it’s always about the sex. but, honestly, that’s probably the least complicated element of their relationship.

 

it took them a while to learn that it didn’t have to be complicated, of course. that, if they focused on talking to each other, no one was going to get hurt. they all had needs, they all had their own individual orbits that didn’t always overlap. they were threaded into each other’s lives, but not in the same places and not in the same patterns. complex, but not impossible.

 

at the heart of it, namjoon thinks it’s actually rather simple. they love as much as they’re in love, if not more. he doesn’t know why that’s such a difficult concept to grasp.

 

maybe because they’re more careful with one another. maybe because they’re more careful with themselves. namjoon could sit here and break down all of the components of how they work, except that it would never be enough. like his dad always said, love lingers in the incalculable as much as it lingers in the details.

 

although to be fair, the hardest parts are also in the details. like yoongi and jimin putting up with his forgetfulness. namjoon weathering yoongi’s bad moods or jimin’s tendency to err on the side of stubborn. they argue over stupid, pointless shit just like everyone else and sometimes he chooses the wrong words because he speaks before he thinks, but it’s never with resentment. he knows himself well enough by now that he doesn’t think he’s even capable of being malicious. that doesn’t mean he isn’t an idiot. that doesn’t mean he can’t be hurtful by accident. by being careless. it took time and courage to learn how to talk to each other as three. to use their voices instead of just thinking about it.

 

his dad told him once that marriage was something you did. an action that doesn’t end after it happens, something that’s always  _ in fiore _ . in bloom. like life. like anything, really. so, as hard as it can be and as frustrated as he can get with himself, he tries. to balance, to be better. to love--in every way he knows how and occasionally in the ways he doesn’t yet.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


“are we really doing this?” namjoon asks, staring at himself in the closet mirror while he fumbles with the buttons on his shirt. over his shoulder, yoongi zips himself into a fresh pair of jeans and jimin is still leaning against the dresser, playing with his phone.

 

“yeah,” yoongi grunts in response. “why wouldn’t we?”

 

he shrugs even though yoongi isn’t paying attention. “i just can’t stop imagining your mom’s look of suppressed horror.”

 

yoongi scoffs and namjoon doesn’t need to see him to know eyes were rolled.

 

“my mom loves you.”

 

“your mom loves the  _ idea _ of me,” he corrects, tucking his shirt in. there’s a solid pause before yoongi turns and lets out a tired sigh.

 

“what the fuck are you talking about?”

 

namjoon meets his gaze in the mirror. “do you think she’ll still love me once she finds out i’ve had both of your dicks in my mouth?”

 

“i wasn’t aware that was part of the game plan,” yoongi retorts, lips tilting up at the corners. jimin snorts behind him and namjoon doesn’t think either of them realize he’s not actually kidding.

 

“it’s implied, yoongi,” namjoon stresses. his collar feels too tight around his neck now and he pops a few of the top buttons, starts pacing, trying to calm down. “we’re dating,” he continues. “dicks go in mouths when people date.”

 

but yoongi seems resolute on the subject, hands on his hips as he tracks namjoon’s movements across the room.

 

“she won’t be horrified. not if we stick to the game plan.”

 

“what even is the game plan?” jimin asks.

 

yoongi shifts his weight from one foot to the other and pointedly stares at the floor. “be as vague as fucking possible,” he answers.

 

“jesus, this is already a disaster,” namjoon whines, flopping onto the bed. his stomach rolls with waves of anxiety and doubt. he doesn’t know if he can do this.

 

“joonie, stop,” jimin tries to soothe, voice soft. “we’ll be fine. i like your mom.” he pauses and then adds, mumbling, “even if she is totally frightening.”

 

yoongi’s hands lift to slide over his face, another sigh bleeding through his fingers. namjoon knows they’re all about to lose their shit if they don’t talk about this. if they don’t vocalize the thoughts bouncing around inside their heads, irrational as most of them probably are.

 

“okay,” yoongi says, hands falling limp at his sides. “okay, time out. just sit down for a sec.”

 

jimin pushes off from the dresser and settles on the bed next to namjoon. he sits up, jimin’s head tipping onto his shoulder. yoongi smiles at them, but it’s more concerned than fond, and namjoon wishes he’d sit down with them instead of standing there like he’s not about to crawl out of his own skin.

 

“why are you freaking out?” yoongi asks, looking at namjoon.

 

he studies the arc of jimin’s small fingers curled around the inside of his thigh, breathing in slowly. “i’m worried she’ll never accept this. or take us seriously.”

 

it’s been a concern of his ever since he learned she was in town on business, their avoidance of announcing the new status of their relationship no longer an option. and yoongi’s mom is great. an understated force of nature, just like her son. but as intelligent and progressive as she can be, something about polyamory being an actual thing just fucks people up. like it’s a glitch or whatever. a far-fetched fairy tale. yoongi swallows and nods, then jerks his chin at jimin.

 

“you?”

 

“nervous about being the new kid,” jimin replies easily.

 

yoongi nods again, drifting closer, his dark eyes heavy and contemplative.

 

“not that i’m disagreeing, but why does her acceptance matter?”

 

namjoon huffs, because he knew yoongi would ask that, and yoongi flashes him a brief smirk. he shakes his head.

 

“i dunno, she’s like my second mom?” he starts. “i mean, you know how i am when it comes to parental disappointment and i know, inherently, that her opinion isn’t important in the grand scheme of things, but like...it would be nice if she was excited about it.”

 

jimin’s grip tightens on his thigh, stopping the fidgeting before it starts. namjoon makes a conscious effort not to jiggle the other one.

 

“yeah,” yoongi agrees quietly. sincerely. “it would.”

 

“your turn,” jimin prompts, the tip of his shoe tapping against yoongi’s calf.

 

yoongi’s face scrunches up for a moment, gaze roaming.

 

“um, pretty much the same, i guess.”

 

in the ensuing silence, all three of them processing the offered information, namjoon’s mind wanders. he thinks about how far they’ve come since they started this. how their shared growth always feels amazing until some ignorant, outside force tries to chip away at it and tear it down. namjoon looks at jimin--looks at yoongi and himself, thinking about how much effort they’ve put into everything. even the clothes they picked out tonight, wanting to impress. to prove worth. he hunches forward a little, taking jimin with him, and thinks about how stupid that is.

 

“so where does that leave us?” jimin asks eventually.

 

“a fear of rejection and feeling left out,” namjoon supplies.

 

yoongi chokes on a laugh and threads both hands through his hair. “literally nothing has changed.”

 

he grins, reaching out to draw yoongi towards them, pulling until he collapses into their laps with a groan. jimin’s arms coil around yoongi’s waist automatically, yoongi half slumping against namjoon’s chest. he noses at the soft skin behind yoongi’s ear and breathes in slowly.

 

“i wouldn’t say nothing,” namjoon murmurs.

 

yoongi hums low in his throat.

 

“so...where does that leave us?” jimin repeats the question.

 

“where we started.”

 

“do you really still feel like the new kid?” yoongi asks suddenly.

 

jimin catches his lip between his teeth, eyes narrowed at nothing. “sometimes your history together is kind of intimidating.”

 

it’s 100% valid, but it still makes namjoon frown. makes yoongi’s eyebrows furrow into a tight knot.

 

“i’m sorry,” he offers. jimin smiles brightly over yoongi’s shoulder and glances away.

 

“don’t be. it’s just the lifetime of insecurities.”

 

which is something namjoon is intimately familiar with. they all are, no matter how many times they’ve talked each other out of dissecting themselves down to their atoms. no matter how many times they gloss over it with a shrug and a self-deprecating laugh.

 

he wraps his arm around both of them, feeling anxious but also full. this-- _ them _ \--shit like that doesn’t happen often, if at all. and sometimes what’s intimidating is when he remembers that it’s his.

 

namjoon leans forward to look jimin in the eye. “we love you,” he says. simple fact.

 

jimin’s entire face crinkles and he jostles all three of them when he elbows namjoon in the ribs.

 

“i know, joonie.”

 

“all right, i think that’s our mush quota for the evening,” yoongi grumbles loudly, scrambling up and away to go put on his shoes. “we’re gonna be late.”

 

but before he can motivate himself to stand and do the same, jimin tangles their fingers and holds him there, soft mouth connecting with his. namjoon’s heart jolts, other hand molding to jimin’s cheek. he forgets about ignorance and rejection and parental disappointment and anchors himself to the movement of jimin’s lips. to the whispered “love you back” that slithers past his own lips and over his tongue to firmly take root in the pit of his stomach.

 

dinner isn’t, in fact, a disaster. yoongi’s mom doesn’t act horrified. or treat them like a bunch of kids who don’t know what the hell they’re doing. he welcomes the ignorance only because she listens when they explain and tries to understand. but for the most part, namjoon sits there in the dimly lit restaurant, full of admiration for his best friends. his lovers, his partners, his co-conspirators. the threads that add meaning to his design.

 

mrs. min feels it, too. he can tell by the way she smiles at her son--the same way yoongi smiles at him sometimes, the same way namjoon smiles at yoongi, at jimin. like none of them can figure out exactly how they ended up here.

 

“i always knew it would be you,” mrs. min tells him when they’re standing alone at the coat check later. “jimin was a surprise,” she laughs, blinking rapidly like she’s still in shock, and she probably is.

 

namjoon chuckles a little and nods, because he agrees wholeheartedly, just for entirely different reasons. faint, nondescript lounge music pipes in from a speaker above them. the clerk brings them their jackets. he doesn’t really know what else to say to her, even though the urge to do so sits in his chest like a stone. even though he should know how to talk to her after all these years.

 

she beats him to it, one of her hands landing gently on his arm before they reach the end of the wood paneled hallway.

 

“and maybe i don’t quite get it,” she continues, smiling up at namjoon with love and a familiar sense of certainty, “but i’m glad yoongi has you both. he needed something more, didn’t he.”

 

his throat goes tight as he nods again, always thrown by the perspicacity of parents who cared.

 

“yeah,” namjoon breathes, lips twitching into a grin. “i think-- i think we all did.”

 

mrs. min’s  own smile grows brighter and then fades. she pats his arm and they join yoongi and jimin in the lobby like nothing happened. except that namjoon can’t help himself when he presses a kiss to yoongi’s temple while they wait for a cab on the sidewalk.

 

“mush quota,” yoongi mutters immediately, giving him a mild glare that disappears once he looks closer. “god, what did she say to you?”

 

“nothing you don’t already know,” namjoon answers. he shivers slightly in the early spring chill and slides his hand into yoongi’s, stuffing both of them in his coat pocket. “and fuck the mush quota. i know you love it.”

 

“me too,” jimin adds, beaming obnoxiously on the other side.

 

yoongi scowls. or tries to. he’s never been very good at hiding when he’s happy.

 

“fuck you both.”

 

“man, i sure hope so,” namjoon sighs.

 

the responding blush that floods yoongi’s cheeks is swift and unholy. jimin cackles, delighted beyond belief. the sound echoes in his ears long after they’ve left.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


namjoon says he can’t remember how it happened--two becoming three--but there’s a turning point for everything, right? a shift. a single moment of change that we don’t usually notice until way later. jimin fell into their lives and then never fell out again and it was so organic that picking one handful of seconds where it all came together feels legitimately impossible.

 

he’s spent a lot of time thinking about that. how and why connections either happen or don’t happen. why some people slot into place like tinker toys while others blink in and out of existence over time. like stars that died long before their light ever made it to earth. namjoon’s met a lot of people that he knew he’d never see again, no matter how much the potential connection hovered in the background, intangible and out of reach. with yoongi, it had been something else entirely. with jimin, it had been the same. perhaps even more so, because yoongi noticed the difference, too.

 

or at least he thinks yoongi did. that final semester of college was pretty much a blur. pretty much, except for the way jimin became a permanent fixture.

 

hoseok had still been a junior then, so he was around a lot, playing the part of harasser and cheerleader both. he brought them take out and beer and occasionally the kind of stubbornness that got them to leave the apartment or whatever corner of the library they’d made a nest in that week. but with the appearance of hoseok came the appearance of jimin. kind of like a hidden extension that had always been there, waiting to be discovered. because none of them questioned the change or the shift. it just  _ was _ .

 

“well kids, it’s been fun,” hoseok groaned, stretching as he got up from the couch. “but i have work in…” he squinted at his phone. “wow, three fucking hours.”

 

namjoon gave him a sympathetic smile. it was almost sunrise now, leftover pizza boxes littering the coffee table and the super smash bros start menu still open on the tv screen. it had been an unexpectedly nice distraction from responsibility.

 

“sorry.”

 

but hoseok shrugged and grinned back.

 

“it’s cool, i’ll just slam energy drinks all day. who needs a liver, anyway, right?”

 

he laughed as he stumbled out of the armchair to pull hoseok in for a hug, laughing harder when hoseok squeezed him so tight his spine popped.

 

“get home safe.”

 

“yeah, those five blocks are really dangerous,” yoongi added dryly from the kitchen doorway. “do you have pepper spray, hoseok? never know when you’re gonna get attacked by one of those feral hipsters.”

 

namjoon was about to tell yoongi to shut the fuck up when jimin chimed in from the other end of the couch.

 

“they might kidnap you and make you listen to the decemberists’ entire discography.”

 

yoongi’s stoic expression cracked a little and he chuckled. “or force you into joining their evil vegan cult. makes me shudder just thinking about it.”

 

even hoseok was giggling into his shoulder, jimin and yoongi nodding sagely at one another across the room. namjoon sighed.

 

“ha ha, guys. forgive me for caring about hoseok’s well-being.”

 

“i’ll be fine,” hoseok assured him, patting his cheek, and then spun around. “you coming, jimin?”

 

for a moment, all they did was take turns looking at each other, jimin holding yoongi’s gaze and then namjoon’s before smiling down at his hands.

 

“no. i’m gonna stay,” jimin murmured. “but i’ll see you later tonight?”

 

“yeah. okay.” hoseok nodded. he looked like he wanted to say something else, but plastered the cheery grin back on his face instead.

 

“bye, dude,” namjoon said. “thanks for the pizza.”

 

hoseok saluted, heading for the front door.

 

“anytime, kids.”

 

“stop calling me a kid, you fucking punk. respect your elders,” yoongi yelled after him.

 

he heard bright laughter echo in the hallway and then the door closed, muffling hoseok’s amusement before it disappeared completely. quiet settled over the living room. namjoon moved to plop down on the couch next to jimin.

 

yoongi sniffed. “so who wants tea?”

 

they both raised their hands at the same time. yoongi’s mouth quirked and he retreated into the kitchen, followed by the sound of the kettle hitting the stove. the hollow clack of the wooden cabinets, yoongi’s fingers rifling through their collection of tea bags while he muttered to himself. noises that were so familiar, namjoon usually tuned them out, but something about this time hadn’t been like the others. maybe it was the hour. dawn had always made everything seem possible. surreal in its truthfulness.

 

jimin shifted until their arms pressed together and maybe it was that, too. the sound of yoongi merging with the sound of jimin breathing beside him. his soft, high rasp when he interrupted the silence.

 

“how’s your thesis going?” jimin’s eyes traveled over the side of namjoon’s face. “i didn’t get to ask earlier.”

 

“all right. sort of,” he confessed, picking at the fraying hole in his jeans. “it’s hard to stay on track, because i have a lot of ideas and i know i can’t cram them all in there, but the topic is so fucking vague. how am i supposed to address and analyze the entirety of homosexuality in literature and history and popular culture and not write five-thousand fucking pages? i always do this to myself.” namjoon huffed and tossed jimin a wry smile. “pretty sure my advisor hates me.”

 

“pretty sure she doesn’t,” jimin countered, elbowing him gently.

 

“you should read the notes she gives me, they’re like-- the definition of pleasantly passive aggressive,” he mourned.

 

“can’t you narrow your focus?”

 

he folded his legs up onto the cushions, heedless of the fact that his knee was basically in jimin’s lap. namjoon continued picking at the fraying hole in his jeans and tried not to acknowledge how his skin prickled when jimin rested a hand on his thigh. it was okay. friends touched and shit. he was letting himself overthink it. again.

 

“i-- yeah, i guess i could.” namjoon scratched at the back of his neck. “i just don’t want to, because i work better with more freedom. constraints freak me out.” jimin flicked an eyebrow at him and he laughed. “i know, it’s ridiculous. i’m my own worst enemy.”

 

“tell me about it,” jimin muttered, shoulders curving inward, making him seem even smaller.

 

in this, namjoon already knew they were the same. yoongi, too. the rest of the world didn’t hold a candle to their prowess in the art of tearing themselves down. he watched jimin worry the swell of his bottom lip and leaned into him, hoping to erase that knot between his brows.

 

“what about you? how’s rehearsal going? hoseok seemed pretty stoked about your solo.”

 

jimin broke out into a shy smile, ducking his head. “i’m getting there,” he answered. “like you said, it’s hard to translate a larger concept into a single thought or expression. choreographing shit is the worst, i’m never satisfied.”

 

“i bet it’ll be fucking great, though.”

 

those fingers squeezed his thigh, the shrill whistle of the kettle boiling doing nothing to dampen the sound of jimin’s giggles in his ear. 

 

“you gonna come watch me?” jimin asked, eyes sparkling in the dim twilight.

 

“of course,” namjoon scoffed. “we, um, we both will. right yoongi?” he yelled into the kitchen.

 

“what am i agreeing to?” yoongi yelled back.

 

“going to jimin’s showcase.”

 

“oh, yeah. of course.” yoongi’s carefully blank face popped around the edge of the door frame. “no one should ever pass up an opportunity to watch a bunch of dudes run around in tights.”

 

“i see how it is,” jimin drawled.

 

yoongi grinned briefly.

 

“what can i say, i’m a man of simple pleasures.”

 

namjoon laughed into his hands, partially out of long-suffering fondness for his boyfriend and partially to hide the heat in his cheeks, because he was thinking about jimin. in tights. more specifically, jimin’s perfect ass in tights. he had to admit he’d spent enough time staring at it to use his imagination and he was sure he wasn’t going to survive more than 10 seconds if he had to sit through that.

 

there was also the inevitable problem of sitting next to yoongi while they both pretended they weren’t ogling the shit out of their friend. namjoon scrubbed at his cheeks and smiled at jimin like nothing was wrong, despite feeling like he needed to go walk directly into oncoming traffic or stop being such a fucking scaredy cat.

 

but now wasn’t the time or the place. it was never the time or the place. namjoon swallowed another sigh and then yoongi came into the living room, handing each of them a mug and taking the spot on jimin’s right. he caught a whiff of jasmine. delicate and heady. it clashed violently with the bold flavor of apple cinnamon spice on his tongue, and he was about to proclaim that he’d officially started hallucinating from lack of sleep when he realized something--that yoongi had given jimin the crazy expensive special tea. the one he’d shipped in from china. the one namjoon wasn’t allowed to have without explicit permission.

 

namjoon hadn’t experienced the sour twist of jealousy very often. he hadn’t even been sure that was really what he’d been feeling then, but it didn’t last, regardless. because after the initial shock, he realized another thing, albeit a bit slowly.

 

yoongi thought jimin was special.

 

which was absolutely undeniable at this point and, in turn, made him wonder why this conversation that needed to happen hadn’t happened already.

 

“yo, joon.”

 

a bony hand waved in front of his face and namjoon blinked, mug halfway to his mouth.

 

“what? sorry.”

 

yoongi smiled and rolled his eyes. default “oh, namjoon” response.

 

“i asked if you wanted to go grab breakfast. we’re both too fried to cook and the only thing you can make is pop tarts.”

 

he pointed a finger at yoongi, taking another sip. it was less jarring than the first now that he knew what to expect.

 

“that’s not true, i made cookies once,” he reminded him.

 

“once,” yoongi emphasized. “because you burnt the shit out of your hand and vowed never to do it again.”

 

“yeah, but those cookies were really fucking good.”

 

“surprisingly.”

 

“fuck you,” namjoon chuckled, reaching over jimin to smack the back of yoongi’s head. jimin’s mug didn’t quite hide the broad crescent of his lips. “what are you smiling at?” he asked.

 

“nothing.” jimin’s eyes shrunk into crescents, too. joyful little arches under ruffled wheat. “i just love listening to you guys.”

 

yoongi nearly choked on his tea. “seriously? all we do is shit-talk each other. to our faces.”

 

“and it’s  _ amazing _ ,” jimin gushed.

 

namjoon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “no wonder you joined in.”

 

“you’re easy to tease.”

 

“i had nothing to do with this,” yoongi insisted, holding both hands up.

 

they were both glittering at him now--yoongi and jimin--the soft light of sunrise bleeding through the curtains behind them. namjoon felt something tighten beneath his ribs and then expand outward. possibility. love. there was so much of them in his heart for so many different reasons and sometimes he wondered why anyone had the capacity to love at all, because it was really fucking overwhelming.

 

“you’re a bad influence, yoongi, and you know it,” namjoon muttered, laughing and looking away.

 

yoongi threw a leg over the two of them and slouched artlessly against the arm of the couch, mug balanced precariously on his stomach. when namjoon looked back, yoongi’s sly smile reached up into his eyes.

 

“i have plausible deniability. jimin’s friends with hoseok.”

 

he let his head thunk back onto the cushions. “why are all my friends such dicks,” he asked the ceiling and the universe. yoongi’s toes poked into his waist, but jimin was the one who answered, chin tucking over the curve of namjoon’s shoulder.

 

“it’s just how we love you,” jimin murmured.

 

namjoon glanced down at him and then over at yoongi and back up to the ceiling. he didn’t know what to say to that. didn’t know how they even got there or what, exactly, they were doing anymore. he just knew that something had clicked and was still clicking and he didn’t want it to stop.

 

he also remembers wondering why it seemed so difficult to talk about this when living it was so easy. or mostly easy. namjoon hadn’t understood why being in a conventional relationship somehow meant you had to organize the rest of your life into a separate box. why jimin defied that, for the both of them. why he felt drawn to another person when he already had yoongi. he knows he has a tendency to overcomplicate things in his own head, but at the time, his head was functioning on three hours of sleep on a good day, and having several life-changing epiphanies in the middle of finishing his degree was exhausting on levels he never wants to repeat.

 

it doesn’t change the fact that he drove himself more than a little crazy over it--wanting someone in addition to what he already had. even with knowing what it felt like to have yoongi squished up next to him on the couch or out at the bars. even with yoongi’s deep, gravel-thick voice following him into sleep and greeting him first thing in the mornings. the subtle yet unchanging imprint of yoongi’s presence. his sarcasm, his wit, how he understood namjoon in the kind of ways that had never needed words.

 

what was stupid was that he still wasn’t giving himself permission to talk about it, despite all of this. despite knowing yoongi wouldn’t hate him for it. and it was hard. it didn’t have to be, but it was. because he loved yoongi, but he also loved watching jimin with his head tossed back as he laughed like a sun shower. loved yoongi and the soft, sweet core of jimin’s everything. that endless well of generosity when it came to those he cared about. worse, knowing jimin had storms inside of him that looked a hell of a lot like the ones namjoon had been living with for almost his entire life.

 

and underneath it all--the nerves, the exhaustion, the running in thought circles and not communicating a fucking thing--he knew yoongi loved jimin, too. saw it in the smiles namjoon could read like they were etched on his own face. touches that lingered. the kind of laughter yoongi only surrendered to when he was comfortable.

 

once he’d let that thought really cement itself in his brain, it became obvious that they couldn’t pretend anymore. couldn’t act like something new hadn’t taken shape right in front of them. namjoon finds himself remembering this moment more than the others. the one where he finally opened his mouth and called attention to it, making it more real.

 

like before, it happened at someone else’s apartment. hoseok had thrown another party after graduation. a lot of their friends still had finals to conquer, but no one cared. the year was almost over and the distraction was vital to keeping brains inside skulls for a few more days. namjoon wasn’t even sure he hadn’t lost his. because he was happy, but he was also wrung the fuck out and in a constant state of disbelief that he was done. like,  _ done _ done. he couldn’t really digest the reality and initially, he hadn’t known what the hell to do with himself except get high and try not to think about what came next. which was fine, because it’s not like anyone else had a clue yet.

 

“how does it feel?” hoseok had asked, expression as buoyant as his words.

 

namjoon laughed a bit helplessly; watched him drink cheap wine from his favorite ceramic mug. it was in the shape of jack skellington’s head from a nightmare before christmas. they’d given it to him for his birthday last year and hoseok never missed an opportunity to use it.

 

“i dunno, man,” he’d sighed, shrugging. “it feels like nothing and everything.”

 

hoseok’s eyes swung up towards the blinking christmas lights lining the wall.

 

“can you ever answer questions like a normal human being or has that ship sailed?”

 

“more like that ship is sitting at the bottom of the ocean,” namjoon replied.

 

“yeah.” hoseok grinned and shook his head, taking another sip of wine, attention flitting around his packed living room. “where are jimin and your better half?”

 

“no idea. am i supposed to know?”

 

hoseok had looked at him closely for a few beats and then away, grin slipping. he shrugged, too. “just seems like the three of you are joined at the hip these days.”

 

“really?” namjoon asked, hands sliding into his pockets while he rocked on his heels. hoseok had been winding up for this pitch for weeks.

 

“jimin talks about you and yoongi a lot. like, all the time a lot. it’s actually kind of nauseating.”

 

he scowled, smacking hoseok in the chest with the back of his hand. “we’re friends, moron.”

 

hoseok gave him a bit of a cryptic smile and asked, “you sure about that?”

 

honestly, namjoon was rarely sure of anything. except maybe yoongi. except hoseok and jimin and now the fact that his internal conflict obviously wasn’t so internal anymore.

 

“uh...” he glanced at hoseok. his throat closed up and he tried clearing it. “no. i guess not.”

 

nodding, hoseok reached out to squeeze namjoon’s arm. “might be a good idea to figure it out, yeah?”

 

there was no judgment in his tone, just a subtle warning that namjoon was already well aware of. he’d known this could get messy if he wasn’t careful. or considerate. or transparent. they were all so close and he didn’t want to fuck with any of that if it wasn’t going to work. if he didn’t come at it with all of his cards laid out on the table, for himself as much as for everyone else.

 

slowly, namjoon’s thoughts settled. he looked up at hoseok, who had been waiting patiently for this exact thing, and he smiled. why anyone put up with him in the first place was a mystery.

 

“i didn’t mean right this second, joon.”

 

“like you actually expected me not to?”

 

hoseok rolled his eyes again and namjoon rocked back and forth in time to the bass pumping from the stereo on the other side of the room.

 

“do you think we can?” he asked eventually.

 

“does it matter what i think?”

 

namjoon smiled wider. “yes and no.”

 

hoseok scoffed and carded a hand through his hair, taking a second to drain the rest of his mug before humoring him. “being delicate isn’t really your strong suit, dude, but that’s what this is.”

 

he chewed on his lip. it was so true he wanted to laugh.

 

“i know.”

 

they stared at each other for a while. hoseok’s mouth slanted fondly and namjoon bobbed his head in wordless agreement. they’d said what they needed to say, even if everything wasn’t verbal, and he appreciated now more than ever that hoseok knew him like he did. like yoongi. they might as well have had their own language.

 

“congrats, by the way,” hoseok beamed, flipping a switch, all of that maturity thrown out the window as he slung an arm around namjoon and jostled him excitedly.

 

“thanks,” he chuckled, almost swaying off balance.

 

“let’s do some fucking shots.”

 

namjoon’s smile fell. “what? hoseok--”

 

but denying his friend was impossible in this dimension and the next and he was dragged into the kitchen anyway.

 

namjoon had been dragged around a lot that night, now that he thinks about it. everyone wanted to celebrate by pouring more alcohol down his throat and talk about  _ the future _ and he was infinitely grateful when yoongi finally dragged him out of the stuffy apartment onto the back porch, searching for air that wasn’t solid or smoky or vibrating with sound.

 

by that point, his entire head was pleasantly full of cotton. limbs weighted and lazy and it was easy for yoongi to maneuver him into one of the old lawn chairs and sit in his lap like it was something they did all the time. which they did, just not usually with an audience.

 

“you’re being exceptionally adorable,” namjoon had mumbled into yoongi’s shoulder, arms curled tight around his waist, savoring it. “we should graduate more often.”

 

he felt hiccuped laughter tap against his palms.

 

“i’m not trying to be adorable, you’re just more comfortable than these shitty chairs.”

 

namjoon smiled and nuzzled into the fabric of yoongi’s t-shirt. he allowed the other conversations on the porch to wash over him, losing time for a while. he remembers thinking about what hoseok said, yoongi playing absently with his hands and talking to someone across from them that namjoon knew but couldn’t place. he remembers being asked a question but not what it was or if he even answered it. then it was yoongi’s face suddenly close to his--the orange glow of a joint pinched between knobby fingers, reflecting in hooded eyes when yoongi inhaled and leaned closer, depositing the smoke directly into namjoon’s mouth.

 

he breathed in. held it there in his lungs until it burned. 

 

yoongi hadn’t moved and didn’t, even on the exhale, the thin veil of gray doing nothing to mask the slight uptick of his lips. namjoon’s stomach looped in curlicues. he distinctly remembers how time seemed to stop existing altogether, suspended there like they were, until he tilted his chin and closed the gap. yoongi softened against him, sliding an arm around his neck, sliding his tongue past namjoon’s teeth, canceling everything else out.

 

when yoongi pulled back, bringing the joint up to his slick mouth to take another hit, he stared at namjoon with his sleepy, bedroom eyes and then grinned so wide it made them disappear. namjoon’s heart seized joyfully.

 

they’d been dating for what? over four months? and he knew that was nothing, but he also knew he never wanted to get used to the way this felt.

 

“adorable,” he’d murmured, dazed from more than just the weed and the alcohol.

 

“don’t get used to it,” yoongi shot back. he was smirking. namjoon resisted glaring at him.

 

“but you’re always adorable.”

 

yoongi released a small huff. “am not.”

 

“are too,” namjoon countered. he may or may not have been pouting this time.

 

sighing, yoongi regarded him with total seriousness and held up the joint, asking, “do you want more of this, honey bunches of oats?”

 

namjoon’s mouth spasmed into a bemused smile. “what did you call me?”

 

“baby poo.” yoongi batted his eyelashes, getting all up in namjoon’s face again. “cupcake gumdrop sprinkle tits.”

 

that was when he  _ lost _ it; started giggling like his life was over. “ _ oh my god _ ,” namjoon groaned, trying to squirm away, but yoongi’s grip on him tightened, that goofy grin puffing up his cheeks.

 

“my sweet, sweet frosted cornflake muffin.”

 

“what is it with you and breakfast cereal?” namjoon whined. he couldn’t breathe anymore.

 

yoongi snorted, fingers moving to rub at the nape of namjoon’s neck. “i dunno, cocoa puff, i guess you just bring out the processed sugar in me.”

 

his stomach hurt even as it fluttered. he genuinely couldn’t deal with yoongi when he got this obnoxious and loose with his affection. something that happened so infrequently it always destroyed him.

 

hoseok’s voice bounced through the back door before namjoon could say anything, though, his attention flicking to the right. the flutter in his stomach immediately upgraded to a full-fledged gymnastics routine the moment he realized jimin had been standing about ten feet away, watching them. not casually observing, not spaced out in their general direction, but really looking. namjoon will literally never forget the shiver that had ghosted down from his scalp after he noticed and absorbed and jimin kept watching.

 

namjoon swallowed thickly. jimin’s expression warmed, a smile to end all smiles gracing his lips. like his mouth knew exactly how to transmit everything he was feeling. like he was smiling just for them.

 

his heart seized joyfully. the same but different.

 

and even though the exchange only lasted for about fifteen seconds, his intoxicated brain didn’t need more than that to draw one very important conclusion, hoseok’s words ringing in his memory.

 

“um…” namjoon had turned back, brows knotted.

 

yoongi took a final hit from the joint and passed it on.

 

“you okay?”

 

he fidgeted--hands finding somewhere else to settle, thoughts scattering to where he couldn’t hold onto them. how did someone have a conversation about this? was he really sure yoongi wouldn’t hate him? what if this was actually the moment namjoon opened his big, dumb mouth and it all came apart at the seams?

 

something tugged at his hair. he breathed in and looked up and yoongi’s quietly luminous gaze pinned him to the spot. he could do this. he could be honest--desperately needed to be. 

 

the dam cracked and namjoon let the words flood his mouth before his brain could sink under the deluge.

 

“so, i don’t really know how to go about this, and now probably isn’t the right time--there’s never been a right time--i just need to say something, because i’ve been not saying something for like, a century, but um, a thing. a thing is happening,” namjoon rambled without preamble. not that that was new.

 

yoongi’s eyes narrowed in thought. he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

 

“a thing.”

 

“yeah.”

 

“what kind of thing.”

 

he sniffed and glanced away.

 

“a jimin thing.”

 

in his periphery, he saw yoongi’s lips part on a heavy exhale, all traces of amusement promptly snuffing out, and namjoon went very, very still.

 

“oh.”

 

“yeah,” he repeated. 

 

yoongi shifted in namjoon’s lap, thumb stroking absently against his scalp. he didn’t know how to read that particular “oh” and in the silent seconds that grew and piled up on top of one another, namjoon thought he might burst into flames.

 

“i, um--” yoongi stopped. he stared at dead space and then coughed into his other hand. “i know that thing.”

 

instantly, the flames receded, leaving white hot clarity and something akin to relief, but not, because this was only the beginning. namjoon let all the air out of his lungs.

 

“i know you know, we just never talk about it.”

 

yoongi’s thumb pressed against the base of namjoon’s skull and he relaxed, slouching further down the chair. their eyes met. yoongi gave him a tiny, reassuring smile.

 

“are we talking about it right now?”

 

“do we need to?” he asked back.

 

“probably.”

 

namjoon nodded.

 

“probably.”

 

he found himself searching for jimin in the cluster of people near the railing. hoseok was telling a joke, namjoon knew because half of them were barely keeping themselves upright they were laughing so hard. jimin’s whole body arced with the force of it as he cackled in the dark, brighter than a solar flare.

 

“joon?”

 

he turned. “mm?”

 

yoongi tipped over, pressing their foreheads together. “maybe when we’re not high,” he murmured wryly.

 

“yeah.” namjoon had giggled again. “yeah, that’s-- great idea.”

 

kissing him quick and chaste on edge of his mouth, yoongi withdrew and got to his feet, swaying slightly where he stood.

 

“you want another beer?”

 

they were already pretty fucked up, but college was  _ over _ over and yoongi didn’t hate him and maybe, just maybe, this would be the one really good thing that wasn’t an accident. or dumb luck. the one really good thing he wanted and worked for that didn’t fizzle out and fade into nothing.

 

namjoon grinned, wide enough that it ached. “sure, why not.”

 

yoongi had shot off a finger gun and disappeared inside, leaving him slouched in the old, shitty lawn chair wondering what the future meant now that he’d gone left instead of right.

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


“do you ever feel like you’re dreaming?” namjoon asks. he’s got his head pillowed on jimin’s lap, yoongi beside them, languid summer heat making his thoughts heavy.

 

jimin’s eyebrows scrunch together. “what do you mean?”

 

he inhales slowly; runs his fingers over the grass, trying to find the right words. the blades are cooler now that the sun’s dipped behind the trees. namjoon loves the way they feel against his skin and he smiles.

 

“like...feeling tangible and concrete as an individual entity, but everything else--the world, the enormity of space, this fucking  _ perfect _ sky.” helpless, he flails a hand at the radiant blue fading into deep oranges and pinks like it’ll communicate how much it takes his breath away. “it’s all just too much for your puny human brain to understand. how could it possibly be real?”

 

“someone had their wheaties this morning,” yoongi drawls. 

 

namjoon throws the same hand over his head, accidentally smacking yoongi’s book instead of whatever limb came first. yoongi sighs and shoves him away.

 

“but if it’s too much for my puny human brain to understand, how could i be dreaming the existence of the universe?” jimin asks back, ignoring them.

 

that is an excellent question, he thinks, and then grins widely, excitement starting to sing through his veins.

 

“you dream about complex shit all the time,” namjoon answers. “i had a dream once that i was trapped inside the taj mahal. i’ve never been to the fucking taj mahal, i don’t even know what the interior looks like. but if my brain can fabricate intricate details out of nothing, what’s stopping my subconscious from constructing an entire galaxy?”

 

he watches jimin’s beautiful face pinch up in concentration, one of his hands idly sifting through namjoon’s hair. jimin stares out at the grassy slope of the park, seeing and not seeing, and namjoon loves this, too--that distant, glazed look of imagination and the hypothetical.

 

“okay, yeah,” jimin murmurs, head tilting as he shifts his attention back to namjoon, the glaze replaced by a familiar glow. “but constructing an entire galaxy that you know is there, in the abstract, existing somewhere outside of you--that isn’t the same as producing billions of humans who all have specific characteristics and personality traits and histories and stuff. if you made me, wouldn’t that mean you already knew me before we got to know each other?”

 

namjoon’s mouth quirks. “do you know everyone you dream about?”

 

“...no.”

 

“then there’s your answer.”

 

jimin rolls his eyes. “not the whole answer,” he argues, voice getting louder. “how can one brain support the infinite complexity of humanity? let alone all the animals and plants and shit. you can’t tell me the fucking blob fish is an extension of your subconscious.”

 

“or the goblin shark,” yoongi chimes in. “you’re not evil enough to subject the rest of us to something as nightmarish as deep sea creatures.”

 

“besides, if you’re dreaming all of this, where did the information come from in the first place?” jimin practically demands and namjoon can’t help but laugh.

 

“i don’t know.” he shrugs. “that’s the beauty of it.”

 

“ _ ugh _ , you are so annoying.” jimin jams both hands into his own hair and doubles over to bury his face in namjoon’s sternum. “why do i let you suck me into these impossible conversations,” he mutters.

 

namjoon reaches up to pet jimin’s head. “because you love trying to poke holes in my reasoning.”

 

“maybe it’s like schrodinger’s cat. we’re simultaneously alive, dead, and dreaming and no one will know which until someone opens the box,” yoongi offers sagely.

 

he angles his head back, still grinning. yoongi hasn’t even looked up from his book.

 

“what’s the box?” he asks.

 

yoongi smirks and turns the page like he has all the time in the world.

 

“the box is whatever you want it to be.”

 

letting his hand fall back onto the grass, namjoon peers through the layers of swaying tree branches dappled in sunlight. he feels like his brain was just bombed. neurons firing faster than he can process. he’s vaguely aware of jimin sitting up--warm fingers sweeping over his forehead, voices, the sounds of life in the distance. namjoon knows they’re there, but all he can think about is time and space and how much they don’t actually know. which means anything is possible...

 

“yoongi, i think you broke him.”

 

“don’t worry, namjoon broke himself a long time ago.”

 

jimin lightly tweaks his nose. “joonie?”

 

“sorry, i was--” namjoon blurts before his brain can catch up and he almost chokes on a burst of laughter. “i mean, what if he’s right? what if the multiverse is an actual thing? like, the times i feel like i’m dreaming it’s because, for that one moment, this reality is bleeding into one of the others.” his eyes widen. “man, that is so cool.”

 

“such a fuckin’ nerd,” yoongi chuckles.

 

namjoon lashes out again, landing a smack on yoongi’s bony ass kneecap, which only makes yoongi laugh harder instead of retaliate.

 

“ _ shit _ ,” he whines. but the flare of pain in his fingers doesn’t last, not when he catches the way jimin is staring at him. namjoon rubs at his knuckles and comes very close to blushing. “what?”

 

“nothing. it’s just--” jimin chews on his lip, soft eyes getting even softer. “sometimes i wish i could jump inside your head.”

 

he huffs.

 

“it doesn’t make any more sense once you’re in here, trust me.”

 

jimin idly sifts a hand through namjoon’s hair and smiles. “still.”

 

for the zillionth time, his heart skips and skitters in his chest, something expanding behind his ribs, filling him up. namjoon smiles back. jimin’s touch drifts down to his face, one small thumb pressing into the dimple in his cheek. details, he reminds himself. bedrock, his mind echoes.

 

“if you guys are gonna make out, i’m gonna need you to rotate a little to the left so i can watch,” yoongi murmurs.

 

namjoon’s smile immediately stretches into a grin and he shakes his head, not that he’s surprised. “is this better?” he asks, grunting as he props himself up on one arm. jimin giggles. it sounds like the sun dancing with the tree leaves.

 

yoongi snorts, nodding his approval. namjoon sees the bob of his adams apple when he swallows, though, and his heart is doing that thing again. the thing where it doesn’t know how to function, even less so when he feels jimin’s breath against his skin. jimin’s smile against his lips, delicate fingers cradling his face. namjoon sighs into the kiss and lurches closer, because he always gets lost so easily. in both of them. in how they are.

 

is this the box? he wonders. dead, alive, and dreaming doesn’t seem too far from the truth, actually. jimin’s nails scratch at the nape of his neck and he moans quietly. involuntarily.

 

“that’s, um--” yoongi stops, clears his throat. “you can, y’know, not do that anymore.”

 

“i’m pretty sure i could do this all day,” jimin mumbles. he giggles again, kissing namjoon slow and sweet.

 

“or keep going.  _ sure _ .”

 

namjoon giggles, too, and even though it’s legitimately difficult to pull away, he does it anyway.

 

“jealous?” he turns to ask.

 

“flustered,” yoongi corrects flatly, snapping his book shut. his cheeks are a little pink. namjoon thinks it’s adorable.

 

it’s obvious jimin’s on the same wavelength, because he gets this coquettish gleam in his eye and starts to move, crawling towards his intended target.

 

“does yoongi want kisses, too?” jimin teases.

 

“please don’t,” yoongi laughs, short and nervous, and when namjoon starts to crawl with him, yoongi’s cheeks catch fire. “seriously. we’re in public. it’s not fai--”

 

they attack. or collapse on top of him, really, but yoongi still lets out a garbled yell as they leave obnoxious, wet, smacking kisses on whatever patch of skin they can find. namjoon doesn’t stop until yoongi is hyperventilating with laughter.

 

“oh my god, i’m gonna-- i’m, i’m gonna fuckin’ murder both of you, jesus,” yoongi pants harshly, face bright red.

 

“yes, that was so horrible,” he deadpans. “how dare we shower you with affection?”

 

“you’re not the one with the fucking semi.”

 

jimin grins. “you’ve dealt with worse.”

 

“assholes,” yoongi scowls.

 

“but your favorite assholes,” namjoon adds cheerily.

 

it has the desired effect, because yoongi dissolves into laughter again, his gummy smile taking up most of his face. namjoon flops down onto the grass and closes his eyes, feeling full.

 

they lie there for a while. together, not talking. the sun dips a bit lower and city noises carry through the park with the breeze, distant enough that he can still pretend that he’s dreaming. that this stolen pocket of time might stretch out into the infinite. they all have their own individual orbits that don’t always overlap. different patterns, different lives. even though they share both, pockets like this don’t happen every day and it’s always a struggle to let it pass.

 

“hey, joonie,” jimin calls gently.

 

“mm?”

 

“we were thinking about doing dinner and a movie after this, you wanna come?”

 

namjoon looks at the swaying branches. the light’s changed, leaves not as bright. “i’ve got some work stuff to do at the studio,” he answers, turning to give them a brief smile. “you guys go, though. i’ll tag along next time.”

 

jimin searches his face for a moment, then dips his head. “okay.”

 

“but you better bring me leftovers,” he threatens.

 

yoongi groans as he sits up. “only if you never ever do that again.”

 

“i can’t make any promises, man.”

 

leaning over, yoongi gets real close to stare namjoon directly in the eye. “i’m gonna spit in your food,” he rumbles.

 

namjoon scoffs and tilts his chin, mouth brushing against the corner of yoongi’s.

 

“uh-huh.”

 

the flutter of yoongi’s eyelashes is all the reward he needs..

 

“you’re the worst.”

 

namjoon smirks. “you love me.”

 

“must be outta my goddamn mind,” yoongi mutters, getting to his feet.

 

jimin takes his place, dropping three quick kisses to namjoon’s cheek. “text if you’re gonna be late.”

 

“sure thing, mom.”

 

that earns him a swift kick to the side of his ass and then they’re gone, strolling down the sloping hill, hand in hand. jimin pauses before they reach the path, looking over his shoulder to send namjoon one of his everything smiles. the kind he lives for. namjoon blows him a cheesy kiss and jimin’s tinkling, pixie laughter lingers even after they’re gone. he can hear it in the occasional rustle of the leaves above him. in his memory, in his bones.

 

stretching out on the grass, namjoon slides his hands behind his head and closes his eyes. he thinks about the universe, how much they still don’t know. how much will almost definitely remain a mystery forever. except he thinks he knows a little bit. about real magic and love and things wholly undeniable.

 

later, when he’s on the train on his way to the studio, he gets a text. it’s from yoongi.

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:01pm]  
** your katsudon is stinking up  
the whole fucking theater

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:01pm]  
** the guy sitting next to us  
keeps eyeing the bag like  
he’s gonna jump inside  
or some shit

 

**[sent: july 26 7:02pm]  
** guard it with your life

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:03pm]  
** my life is worth more than  
rice and deep fried pork

 

**[sent: july 26 7:03pm]  
** idk about that. katsudon is  
prrreeetty great

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:03pm]  
** it’s like you don’t love me at  
all

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:04pm]  
** where’s the goddamn loyalty

 

**[sent: july 26 7:04pm]  
** can’t i love both of you   
equally?

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:04pm]  
** you do not love katsudon  
as much as you love me

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:04pm]  
** i reject this version of reality

 

**[sent: july 26 7:05pm]  
** open the takeaway box

 

**[sent: july 26 7:05pm]  
** maybe you’ll find a new  
one

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:06pm]  
** movie’s starting. this isn’t  
over

 

**[sent: july 26 7:06pm]  
** have fun

 

**[sent: july 26 7:07pm]  
** i love you more than deep  
fried pork <3

 

**puppysaur  
** **[sent: july 26 7:07pm]  
** damn fuckin right you do

 

namjoon grins down at his phone, laughter tickling the inside of his stomach as he slides it back into his pocket. he looks out the window at the dimming sunset playing hide and seek between the buildings. the glittering lights in the distance, other lives happening all around him. he wasn’t just fucking around when he said he felt like he was dreaming, because most of the time, life seems more surreal than anything. like it’s all too good to be true.

 

the reflection of his face in the glass catches his attention when they roll into the next station. he’s still smiling--edges of his mouth stuck in a slight curve, dimples anchored in his cheeks. namjoon pulls his phone out of his pocket again and impulsively dials a number he will never need in his contacts.

 

“ _ hello? _ ”

 

“hey, dad.”

 

“ _ namjoon! _ ” his dad bellows happily into his ear. “ _ to what do i owe the immense pleasure of this call? _ ”

 

“shut up,” he huffs. the train rolls out of the station, announcing its next stop. he’ll have to get off soon. “i just wanted to talk.”

 

“ _ are you all right? _ ”

 

“yeah,” namjoon assures. “yeah, i’m fine. amazing, even.” his smile blooms and shrinks, but never really fades. “i’m not calling to talk about myself, though. how are you and mom?” he asks, staring out at the city again. “tell me everything.”

 

his father’s low, melodic voice flows through the speaker and namjoon closes his eyes for a moment, listening to the warm tone of his words. he wonders if that’s what he sounds like when he talks about yoongi and jimin. like a firework. like hot chocolate with too many marshmallows. lazy summer afternoons, laughter in the kitchen, the comforting weight of limbs that aren’t his own.

 

like the details.


End file.
